Bondlock 221Bs
by astudyinfic
Summary: Short fics about the life of the Holmes brothers; Mycroft, Sherlock and Quain (Q).
1. The Family Reunion

"Mine is a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard," Mycroft said haughtily, looking down his nose at his two little brothers. "He has worked his way up the ranks and is a fine specimen of duty to Queen and Country. Everyone should be so lucky as to have a man like Gregory Lestrade."

Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes at his obnoxious older sibling. "Mycroft, John is a former Army Captain, a trained doctor, and the finest marksman I have ever met. He has saved my life on numerous occasions and tolerates my experiments better than any other person alive."

Eyes darting between his two brothers, Quain cleared his throat, "I think you would find that James is better than both of your men. He was a Naval Commander before becoming one of the top secret agents in MI6. He has done more with his life than either of your two men could imagine. Secret agent is greater than any other career, do you not agree?"

As the three men continued arguing, on the other side of the room, John and Greg looked on with amusement while James stared disbelieving.

"Are they always like this?" he asked, as the other two sipped their beers, smirking.

"Yes," they answered in unison.

John smiled, "Welcome to the family. Just wait until you meet Mummy, Bond."


	2. Reminiscence

My entire adult life spent watching over them.

Almost my own children, ten and twelve years younger than me.

Parents were gone, it was just us. I could not leave them in the system.

So I became the system. It wasn't hard. They were desperate for someone to take control.

Systems are easier to control than children.

Sherlock, always tinkering in his lab. Small explosions became common place. Dead animals littered the lawn. (Not that he killed them. He was never cruel. Never a psychopath or even a sociopath. Just different and alone.)

Q (Quain never did like his given name, not that any of us did) pulling apart computers, getting into top secret files. Page after page of code spread throughout his room.

Where most people saw death, Sherlock saw life. Where most people saw number, Q saw poetry.

Neither fit in with their peers, but they had each other. They spoke different languages, one science and one binary, yet they understood each other completely.

I wondered what would happen to them when they got older.

Could they handle the real world? Could the real world handle them?

Then they fell in love.

Each with a man who would protect them with his own life.

And so I can rest. John and James have them in good hands. My brothers.


	3. I Don't Even Know Your Name

Falling back onto the sofa, Q struggled to regain his breath. Bond collapsed next to him, the sweat on his skin glowing in the dim light of the room. His glasses somewhere on the floor, Q blinked trying to get some focus on the man next to him.

"I will not be one of your Bond girls, double oh," he growled, wagging a finger at the special agent. "I am your Q and deserve more respect than that."

"My Q," the agent grinned, leaning over to kiss him, knees straddling his hips. "I like the way that sounds."

Trailing a hand up into Bond's blond hair, Q returned the kiss with passion, licking his way into the other man's mouth.

"I'm not joking though, James. You can't just use me for sex when you aren't on a mission."

Bond smiled, leaning his forehead against Q's. "Contrary to popular belief, I do not shag my way through MI6 and I do not have time for relationships outside the agency. You are the first person I have slept with for pleasure in many years."

Quirking an eyebrow, Q challenged him silently.

"It's true. And I don't even know your name."

"It's Quain Holmes." Q smiled, finally realizing what he meant to the spy in his lap. "Come on, James. Let's go to bed."


	4. The First Computer

Mycroft gave him his first computer.

Five years old when his brother came home from school for the holidays, broken computer in hand. Offered to Sherlock first, who, at seven, was more interested in exploring the pond behind the estate and trying to blow things up with their father's old chemistry set.

Abandoned on the table when Sherlock wondered off, Q came across it and quickly took it for his own.

Pulling it apart, piece by piece, and then, amazingly, putting it back together.

By the end of the holiday break, the computer was functional again.

Then they realized that all three of the boys were geniuses, each in their own way.

Mycroft never wanted anything for Christmas, saying that the time with family was all he could ask for. A diplomat always, even at that young age.

For Sherlock there were books on crimes, chemistry sets, dissection kits, and miniature skeletons.

And Q, the baby brother, there was every type of technology they could get their hands on. Hand me down phones, computers, televisions and appliances. Always broken when handed to him, always fixed by the time school started up again.

The family had no idea where this interest would lead him. But Q knew. He could see the path he would follow. Read it. Just like his beloved binary.


	5. Babies and Hedgehogs and Bears! Oh my!

Quain stomped into the room, arms crossed, looking a bit like a tiny thundercloud. His hair was overgrown, but Mummy and Daddy didn't have the heart to get it cut again after he cried so hard the last time. He was two, the youngest, and the light of their lives, unlike the middle child, currently sitting on the floor of his room, playing with his stuffed hedgehog.

"Where ith he?" Q yelled, standing over his sibling. "You took Bear. I want Bear back, Sherwock. Where ith he?" The bear in question was a small brown teddy, old and well loved, with numerous scars and scruffy patches. He and Q had been inseparable since the bear was placed in his crib the day he was born.

"Bears ah boring, Coo," Sherlock lisped. "You should have a hedgehog. Much better. More intewesting."

Sherlock looked shocked when Q's tiny fisted bopped him on top of the head. "No! I! WANT! BEAR!"

Sighing, Sherlock turned his attention back to his hedgehog. "Under the bed."

Q scurried over, pulling out his bear and cradling him to his chest. Sitting next to Sherlock, he placed a quick kiss on hiss cheek. "Tank you, Sherwock," setting Bear next to the hedgehog to play.

Smiling a little at his baby brother, Sherlock replied, "Well, maybe he isn't so bad."


	6. No No No No No No No Yes

The first time the answer was, "No, it's an antiquated system."

"We don't have time for such nonsense. We have work to do," came next, though I realized that asking while running from the Russian mob was poor timing.

"If I say yes, my brothers will mock me incessantly. You've met them. They're horrible." He had a point there.

Over takeaway in the Q branch, he waved his chopstick at me asking, "What is the point? Everyone already knows how we feel."

"You don't really want this. You are just asking to tease me, aren't you? This seems like your kind of joke," caused me to wonder if maybe he knew me as well as I thought.

"You want something, don't you? I already told you no exploding pens." Yes, he had told me that. No, that wasn't the reason for asking. Yes, I will get my exploding pen someday.

Exasperated, he responded the seventh time with a simple, "No. Please stop asking."

Then, in bed one night, I got it right. "Please, I want to know you will be here when I get back from missions. I want to know you will be protected when something goes wrong. I want this. Us. Forever."

Smiling, finally understanding how sincere it was, he said what I had waited to hear, "Yes, Bond."


	7. Share

Q says nothing when Bond stumbles into Q –branch waiting to go home. He brushes his hand across the agent's neck as he passes but finishes his work without a word.

When they get home, he patiently helps 007 undress, taking in the new wound to his already beaten shoulder. But besides the hole from the knife, there are other marks that disturb Q more. As he pushes James onto the bed, he kneels over him pressing kisses to each mark.

"Mine."

"Mine."

"Mine."

The words are barely more than whispers, but Bond hears each one, hears the sentiment behind them. They both know and understand what he must do in the line of duty, what must be done to ensure the success of the mission, but neither of them like it.

Once, seducing beautiful women was exciting. Now all he could think of during those moments of feigned intimacy was mussed black curls, glasses askew with dark eyes peering out, a long lean body with not one curve save for a luscious arse.

Q hands off the ear piece during those times, unable to sit and listen to the false promises that would be true if he was the one underneath 007.

"I always belong to you, Quain. Mind and soul. Always. You just occasionally have to share my body."


	8. Bulldog

Glancing around, John realized not much had changed in the flat since his last visit. "Did he really move in here because there is nothing new. Well, except that." John made his way to the mantle where a small porcelain dog sat in a place of honour. "That must belong to him because it certainly isn't your style."

Q came to stand next to John. "Yes, that's James', but it isn't really his style either. It was a gift from an old friend who passed not long before we started dating. He hates the thing to be honest, but it is a reminder. A symbol." He brushed his fingers over the small dog reverently. "Remember the attack on the MI6 headquarters, not long after I started in my current position?"

John nodded, "Yes, I remember how agitated Sherlock was until we knew you were alright." John smiled at Q, who was still looking at the dog.

"His friend's office was the one that was bombed. Everything was destroyed. Everything but this dog. It looks so fragile, yet it has stood up to so much. Survived more than anything else. It is a symbol that there is always something left that can be built on, even when it seems everything is gone. This is a symbol of that for him. This bulldog."


	9. Close Shave

Glancing up from his computer, Q sighed, pushing his glasses up, "Do you have to do that at my table? That is where I eat."

"Better light here," Bond tilted his head to get at a particularly challenging location.

Q rolled his eyes, pushing away from the desk to stand in front of James, hands on his hips. "What does light have to do with it? You aren't using a mirror. The fact that you have never slit your own neck seems to indicate that you are in fact unkillable."

Bond continued shaving; a roguish twinkle appearing in his eyes, "Better view then?"

"Just give it to me," Q said taking the straight edge razor from James' hand. Straddling his legs, Q sat on James' lap, facing him.

"You have done this before, right Quain?"

"Slit a man's throat? Oh yes, all the time. It does get so boring down in Q-branch," he quipped as he started to shave 007's jawline.

Resting his hands on Q's thighs, he closed his eyes to feel the weight of his lover on his lap, the richness of the lather on his skin, and the scrape of the razor on his stubble.

Blade discarded, they met in a kiss: intense, passionate and loving.

Bond smiled at him, "Told you the old ways are the best."


	10. I Love You

"I love you" was the Earl Grey never running out, even when he knew it was dangerously low the day before.

"I love you" was one clip of bullets more than any other agent, a silent admonition to please stay safe.

"I love you" was a returned radio and Walther, for the first time in his career.

"I love you" was an exploding pen, an exception since they don't do that type of thing anymore.

"I love you" was a cup of coffee left sitting on the counter before he leaves for work.

"I love you" was finding a way to get information without using sex.

"I love you" was in every question not asked about what happened on the last mission.

"I love you" was taking the yacht to a joint mission instead of a plane.

"I love you" was in the smile received for a retrieved chip returned safely to Q-branch.

"I love you" was staying late at Q-branch because 'just one more line of code…'

"I love you" was in a brush of the hands during a particularly bad dressing down by M.

"I love you" was in the whispered late night confession of a real name.

"I love you" was in the way one said Q.

"I love you" was in the way the other said Bond.


	11. Misfire

Bond knew something was wrong the moment he walked into Q branch and Q wasn't at his work station. During a mission, Q was always at his computer. But, something would be wrong; Mycroft would not have demanded he get to Q branch immediately if there wasn't a problem.

Crossing the room quickly, he let himself in to the private office Q rarely used. There he found Q, slumped forward, head in his hands, hair sticking mussed from nervous fingers.

"Q? Q?" Bond dropped to his knees in front of him, hands wrapped loosely around Q's wrists. "Quain, you need to look at me."

The depth of sadness and despair in those eyes nearly knocked James back as he embraced the other man. "Quain, what happened?"

"005," came the choked reply and Bond searched his memory for what he was referring to. "Gun misfired. Agent lost."

Understanding, Bond brought one hand up to card through Q's hair, holding him close. "Quain, listen to me. 005 knew the risks. We all do. None of us expect to come back from any mission. We just hope. He would not blame you, so you shouldn't blame yourself."

"But 005 was my responsibility…"

"No," Bond interrupted, wiping a few stray tears. "Not your fault. These things happen. Do not blame yourself, Quain. Alright? No blame."


	12. Believe

"Dr. Watson?" he heard, though he didn't look up. It had been three months and he still struggled to get through every day. Every time he closed his eyes he was back on the street watching Sherlock jump. Without sleep, he wasn't a very effective doctor. He knew Sarah wouldn't put up with it for much longer.

Waving his hand towards the door he muttered, "Go see Dr. Sawyer down the hall. I'm off right now."

The young man came in anyway and closed the door, sitting across from him. John looked up and gasped. If he had to imagine what Sherlock looked like at uni, this man was it.

Blinking rapidly he asked, "What can I help you with?"

The man smiled, sticking out his hand to shake John's. "Actually, I'm hoping I can help you. My name is Quain. I work with James Bond and he suggested I come talk to you."

John started, "James Bond? I haven't talked to him in years. What could he want you to talk to me about?"

Quain smiled and John was again taken back at the similarities between him and Sherlock. "I have some information that James thought you would want to know." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Believe in Sherlock, John. I promise you, my brother will be back."


	13. Happy New Year

Standing in front of the window of 221B, Bond wrapped his arm around Q's waist, pulling him closer. "Happy New Years, Quain. The first of many we will share together, I hope," he whispered in Q ear.

Turning, Q wrapped his arms around James' neck, pulling him in. "Happy New Years, James," he murmured against his lips before capturing them with his own. The two men continued to kiss softly for several long moments, fireworks barely visible behind them.

In a chair behind them, John and Sherlock were completely engrossed with each other, wrapped together in Sherlock's large arm chair. They had been snogging for the past twenty minutes and probably did not even notice the clock had passed midnight.

And on the couch, Mycroft and Greg sat, Greg's head on Mycroft's shoulder, watching the younger men celebrate the holiday. "Remember when we were like that, darling?" Mycroft asked, causing Greg to snicker a bit.

"Mycroft, I'm pretty sure we were never like that. Maybe like James and Q, but John and Sherlock? Not bloody likely." The two men looked over as John started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. Mycroft cleared his throat and John looked up, surprised to see there were people in the flat.

Blushing slightly, he asked, "Um, can you guys show yourselves out? We need to go to bed."


	14. We're Concerned

"Are you sure you know what you are getting into, Q? We're concerned about you." Greg looked serious, staring at him from across the table while John nodded his silent agreement.

Exasperated, Q sighed, "I'm fine. I honestly do not know what the problem is. James and I have been together for several months now so why the concern now?"

"Probably because you didn't tell us about him. If Sherlock and I hadn't run into you two the other day, how long would it have been before you let us know you were seeing someone?"

"Never, if I had my way. You four are the biggest mother hens I have ever met. What does it matter if I am seeing James? I love him. Isn't that enough?"

"Q! He's a trained killer! He could murder you in your sleep."

"And you could murder Sherlock or he could murder you. Mycroft could cause any of us to disappear without a trace at any time. This is because I'm the youngest, isn't it? Because I'm the baby brother?" The other two nodded and Q stretched taller, "I'm just fine, John, Greg. And why are_you two_ here?"

"Would you rather Mycroft and Sherlock have this talk with you?"

Q visibly shuddered at the thought, "God, no. You're right. This is for the best."


End file.
